Half Time on the Couch
by CycloneT
Summary: To romance, or not to romance…that is the question. [GorenEames]
1. Default Chapter

Title: Half Time on the Couch  
  
Author: Cyclone   
  
Rating: G  
  
Category: Response to Ann's challenge at Amorous Intent  
  
Summary: To romance, or not to romance…that is the question. ;)  
  
Notes: Ooops! *blushes* I kinda screwed up the opening line. That's what you get when you scribble it down at work at 6:30 in the morning, then rush home and type it up and send it out straight away. g  
  
~x~  
  
"You!" Alex sputtered. "You couldn't be more unromantic if you tried!"  
  
"Of course I could," Bobby replied with a straight face. "Especially if I tried. . ."  
  
Alex flipped off the television and folded her arms over her chest. "You're impossible, you know that?"  
  
"What? Alex, all I said was that I could think of better ways to propose to the woman I loved than by spelling it out on the giant screen at a football game."  
  
"It was a beautiful proposal," she stubbornly asserted.   
  
"I think a proposal should be kept between the two people involved, not put out there for a drunken crowd to cheer and leer over."  
  
"I think it was –"  
  
"Beautiful, yeah I know. But tell me . . .as a woman . . .would you rather be wined and dined –"   
  
"Wined and dined?" Alex scoffed. "Isn't that just a little clichéd?"  
  
Bobby held up his hand and gestured that she wait until he was finished. "Wined and dined and treated like a princess before answering the biggest question of your life, or would you rather be the half-time entertainment, forgotten by all and sundry by the time the third quarter started?"  
  
Alex scowled. "Trust you to put it like that. And besides, wining and dining is so overrated these days. . .everybody does it. At least this woman will remember her proposal for the rest of her life."  
  
"She'll remember the stench of hot dogs and beer and the panic of suddenly finding herself under the scrutiny of fifty thousand pairs of eyes, more like."  
  
"That just proves my point that you don't have a romantic bone in your body," she retorted loftily.  
  
Bobby grinned and curled his body so that he was facing her. "You really can't say that without citing your source."  
  
"This conversation doesn't count?"  
  
"No. . .We're having a disagreement about the way a marriage proposal was delivered. It has nothing to do with my being romantic or not."  
  
"Bobby, give it up. I can just tell – you'd suck at romance."  
  
"I would, huh?"  
  
"Yes, you would."  
  
Alex leant forward to pick up a handful of chips, gloating that for once she'd managed to have the last word in a disagreement with her partner. She was therefore taken unaware when he broke the silence and stopped her in mid gloat.  
  
"Have dinner with me then," Bobby said.  
  
Alex stared at him dumbly. "What?"  
  
"You heard," he insisted with a smirk.   
  
She squirmed in her chair and stalled for time. "You mean on a date?"  
  
He raised his brow knowingly. "What else would I mean?"  
  
They sat looking at one another as the seconds ticked by, Alex getting more and more annoyed as he refused to wipe the smirk off his face.   
  
"Okay," she finally said, surprising the both of them.  
  
Bobby's smirk suddenly disappeared. "What?"  
  
"You heard," she smiled smugly, echoing his previous reply.   
  
He quickly regained his composure, stretching forward to take a chip out of her hand and popping it into his mouth. "I have to warn you, Alex. . .I'll be pulling out all the stops to prove my point."  
  
She laughed a little unsteadily. "Oooh, I'm shaking."   
  
"You should be," he said quietly, taking another chip. "I'm gonna romance your socks off."  
  
End. 


	2. 2

Notes: To everyone who reviewed and begged and threatened...I decided to continue. :) Enjoy!  
  
Alex studied her reflection one last time before throwing her hands up in resignation and flopping on the edge of the bed. She was going out to dinner – just dinner, but she was in a state of near panic over her attire. Bobby had said to dress casually, but she had no idea how casual he meant. Skirt and blouse casual or jeans and t-shirt casual?   
  
She'd finally settled on a skirt and blouse – if for no other reason than she wore slacks every day and felt like a change, but she was starting to have second and third thoughts. Not just about her attire, but about the whole date-thing that Bobby had planned.   
  
"Get a grip, Eames. He's just a man. You are the superior sex."  
  
She was still telling herself this when the doorbell rang.  
  
~x~  
  
"So . . . here we are," Bobby said unneccessarily as he ushered Alex up the stairs of her apartment building.  
  
They stopped just before the door, and she turned around so that they were facing. "Here we are," she agreed lightly.   
  
When he didn't make any move to go she took a hesitant step forward. "Tonight was . . . I had a really good time."  
  
"Me too," he answered, unconsciously moving closer.  
  
He'd taken her to an open-air concert in the park; her enjoyment of the music had been enhanced only by the company she found herself in and a picnic dinner complete with champagne and strawberries. How he'd managed to have a soft blanket and a basket stocked with her favourite foods waiting for them without anybody stealing it was beyond her. She hadn't questioned him; besides, she didn't think that he would have told her even if she had asked. She'd simply accepted his efforts with a smile, and contented herself with good food, good conversation and good music. Later, after she'd eaten so much she didn't think she could ever move again, he'd pulled her to her feet and they'd danced away their lethargy under the gentle light of the stars.   
  
Bobby swiped the back of his neck with his hand, stalling the inevitable. "I guess. . . I guess I'll be going then."  
  
She nodded, waiting for him to turn around and walk back to his car so that she could wave him goodbye.  
  
"Well. . .goodnight, Alex."  
  
"Night, Bobby. Thanks again for the . . . well, for everything."  
  
"You're welcome."  
  
They stood staring at each other, neither making any move to leave. "I think this is the part where you leave," Alex finally quipped.  
  
"And I think this is the part where you go inside," he retorted.  
  
An easy laugh, and then an awkward silence.  
  
Alex glanced at her watch. "It is getting late," she offered.  
  
He said nothing, merely posed a question with his eyes and stepped closer when he saw her answer. It was over before it had really begun, but it was a kiss that was nonetheless offered and accepted and memorised by both before it had finished.  
  
"Well, this is an interesting development," Bobby noted with a shy smile, still close enough to smell the shampoo of her hair.  
  
"I'd say."  
  
"So where do we go fr-"  
  
"Do you want to come in for coffee?" she asked, breaking him off.  
  
He just stood there with an idiotic grin on his face.   
  
"What?" she asked, grinning in response.  
  
"Nothing . . .just . . . an invitation to come inside. I guess I proved my point."  
  
"Proved your . . ." and then her face closed and he found himself looking into the eyes of a cold stranger.  
  
"Go to hell, Goren," she spat. 


	3. 3

Bobby hammered his hand against the woodwork. "Alex, will you please open the door?" It had taken him a full two seconds after she'd stormed inside to comprehend what he'd said to her. He'd raced after her trying to explain his chronic foot in mouth disease only to have her glower at him and slam the door in his face. So far she hadn't responded to his repeated attempts to explain or apologise, and he couldn't blame her one little bit.  
  
He pounded again. "I'm going to stand out here making a scene until you listen to what I have to say," he threatened.   
  
"Then you're going to be out there for quite a while," she sneered.  
  
"Alex . . . please? I'd rather not put on a show for your neighbours."  
  
He heard the soft latch of the door being unlocked and cautiously pushed his way through. He wasn't sure how it had happened, but he thought that he'd hurt her. Actually, that wasn't quite true. He knew how it happened. It had happened because he had been so damn . . . giddy . . .yes, giddy after that kiss that he'd let his guard down and then said the first thing that popped into his head. Never mind that it was the wrong thing. Never mind that he hadn't meant it how it sounded. It was his driving need to prove that he was right that had got him into this mess. And now he had to fix it. He just wasn't sure if he could.  
  
"I didn't mean that how it sounded," he begun, discouraged a little by the steel in her eyes. She wasn't about to make things easy for him.  
  
"I just . . . I was surprised at the kiss . . . in a good way, Alex, don't get me wrong, I don't want you to think . . . but I didn't know it was going to happen, and when you reciprocated . . . it kind of threw me. Then the . . . the invitation - I knew I needed to say something, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out what that something was."  
  
Still nothing from Alex.  
  
"I reacted badly to the whole . . . to everything. I should have kept my mouth shut, left well enough alone. I shouldn't have. . . it's entirely my fault. The date, the dinner . . . the . . . everything. I'm sorry."  
  
"Are you done?"  
  
"I . . . I think so."  
  
"First of all, I don't appreciate feeling like you made me feel on the stairs. The only reason you're still standing is that I know you didn't mean it how it sounded."  
  
He nodded. He was aware of her famous right hook.  
  
"Secondly, for you to stand there and apologise for the entire night is not only tactless, its insulting."  
  
"It's insulting? How? I mean . . . how?"  
  
She stared at him and shook her head. "I thought you knew me better than this, Bobby. I really did. I enjoyed myself. The food, the champagne, the dancing. . . yes, even the company, until you decided to speak before you thought. I had a better time than I'd had in I don't know how long, and you're not taking that away by apologising for it."  
  
"I'm sor -"  
  
"Don't you dare finish that sentence or you can leave right now!"  
  
Bobby closed his mouth.   
  
"Thirdly, while it's patently obvious that you don't need any help in the romance department, your social skills and timing need a hell of a lot of work. You're just lucky that I'm used to you and can overlook these failings."  
  
"I know I should be grateful that you're even talking to me, but. . . what exactly are you saying?"  
  
Alex sighed. "Bobby, you won. You proved your point - whatever you set out to do you achieved. On the stairs I thought . . . well, I thought you were saying that the whole night had just been one big joke at my expense. I thought that you were laughing at me for falling for all that 'wining and dining' stuff I scoffed at last week."  
  
"No, I would never . . . I wasn't laughing at you."  
  
"I know. I realised that while you were pounding on my door."  
  
"Then if you knew I didn't mean it what took you so long to let me in?"  
  
She had the grace to look a little guilty before she admitted, "I just wanted to let you stew a while."  
  
He exhaled ruefully. "For what it's worth - I'm sorry I hurt you."  
  
"And I'm sorry I called you a narcissistic jerk."  
  
Bobby tilted his head to the side. "You didn't call me that."  
  
"Not out loud," Alex replied with a straight face, before they both burst out laughing.  
  
"You know. . ." he started, moving closer. "However way you play it, until that little misunderstanding on the steps, the night was a success."  
  
"Yes, it was."  
  
"And I don't suck at romance," he said, quoting her orignal line from the previous week.  
  
"No, you most certainly don't."  
  
He couldn't help it. He smirked. "I told you I'd romance your socks off."  
  
She fought against a grin but lost. "Why do I get the feeling it's not my socks you're interested in?"  
  
"Because, Detective Eames, you have a very suspicious mind."  
  
They were close enough now to touch, so Alex grabbed him by his tie and drew him to her. "That must be it."  
  
End. 


End file.
